Tyrus sipped his beer in the dimly lit pub and muttered under his breath. He was hungry, restless and moody. It had been three days since he had last had a taste of human blood, and even that had been dismal.
He cringed as he remembered the smell of the unconscious, homeless man he had been desperate enough to drink from. The blood had not sat well with him. The man was practically dying, and his blood was tainted with far too much alcohol for a human to possibly survive. It left a sour taste in his mouth.
The two hundred year old vampire surveyed the slim pickings from his corner of the dingy bar. Two old men were sitting in a back booth, talking about how they had escaped their wives for a night. Along the pub's only window, a large group of married couples sat at a table, laughing loudly at some joke made by their fat and balding friend. The regular bartender was sitting in a corner, looking bored.
Tyrus sighed. The rules of the supernatural community had gotten stricter in recent years, due to a sudden influx of young vampires who had gotten careless and complacent with their hunts. Now, any risk of exposure to the community was dealt with strictly by the Governance. It was hard to come by any good opportunity for a satisfying morsel.
He recalled the feisty young blonde he had cornered in an alley two weeks ago. He licked his lengthening incisors as he thought of her fresh, warm blood spilling down his throat, as her curvy body writhed and bucked against his.
It had been difficult to stop himself from draining her dry, but he had done it. He'd licked the tiny puncture wounds on her neck, healing them, and wiped her memory before sending her back out into the street.
He sipped his beer again, and tried to convince himself that the flat, cold, drink was the warm, deliciously spicy taste of young blood.
A scent came to Tyrus just before his sensitive ears picked up the sound of the pub door opening. It was intriguing, making his nostrils flare, and light amber specks glow in his pupils. He turned slightly and caught the sight of a woman, possibly in her late twenties, walking to the bar stool a few seats down from him.
Tyrus drew a stealthy, long, deep breath. And then he smiled to himself. She had come alone. There was no scent of anyone else on her. He watched has she ordered herself a double shot of scotch.
Alone and out to get drunk, he thought. Perfect.
She didn't have much makeup on, and her long, silky brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. Still, she was beautiful. Long lashes framed large, dark brown eyes. She had such fair skin, and high cheekbones.
His eyes wondered down to the outline of her nipples pushing against her T-shirt, bra-less, down to the curve of her hips, and traced the length of her long legs hugged by her tight skinny blue jeans.
Her full, pink, lips pressed softly against the scotch glass as she downed her drink in one go. Tyrus became aware of the familiar stretch in his crotch as his felt himself harden. He was surprised. He was not usually aroused so quickly by a human. He shifted in his seat, disarmed.
She put down her money, smiled at the bartender, and got up to leave. A ball of excitement grew in the pit of Tyrus' gut. He was ready for this hunt.
Using all the willpower he had, Tyrus waited a full five minutes after she left before he quietly got up and headed for the door. Outside, the moon stayed hidden behind the clouds, and the only light came from the dim streetlamps that sparsely lined the street.
